


Maybe you could save my soul

by lanyon



Series: Bad Boy Boogie [12]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, concussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 14:16:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5747545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kent has feelings. He even manages to admit to having feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe you could save my soul

**Author's Note:**

> +Title from Imagine Dragons  
> +Thanks to **Idrilka** for both her support and her Dani.

“It was just a freak accident,” says Jeff, running his hands through his hair. “Like. A really fucking bad freak accident.”

Kent sits at the counter in his kitchen while Kit winds around the legs of his stool. “Shit.”

“Right? Like, it was meant to be no contact and he’d just taken off his helmet and _wham_ , you know?”

Kent feels sick. “He’s okay, though?” _He’ll be okay?_

Jeff nods. Then he bites his lip. “I mean. He was knocked out for a moment but he was definitely conscious when they got him off the ice.”

“I should go see him,” says Kent and he stands up, grabbing the counter to steady himself. 

“Woah,” says Jeff. “He’s still up at the hospital and Beastly’s gonna bring him back to his place after and he definitely doesn’t need you going over there to sneeze all over them.” 

“Shit.” Kent sinks back down onto his stool. He reaches for his phone and sends a text to Charbo. _Feel better soon, kid._

When he goes to bed that night, there’s still no reply.

♠

Gabriel’s never had concussion before. It’s pretty surprising, given how hard he plays. He hates it. He doesn’t feel like himself. He looks in the mirror of the bathroom in Beastly’s house and he doesn’t look like himself, not with all his hair shorn off. He understands why they had to cut his hair, even though they only shaved off the hair at the back of his head to put in stitches. Agnes finished the job this morning. 

Gabriel doesn’t really remember what happened. He doesn’t remember hitting the ice, hard, and he definitely doesn’t remember the back of his head connecting with the blade of PB’s skate. He reaches up to touch the long row of stitches and winces a little.

Light hurts his eyes. He hasn’t turned on the light in the bathroom, relying instead on what little sunlight is left, coming in through the bedroom windows. He can’t read his phone and when he tried to pick up a magazine, the words swam in front of his eyes, meaningless. Television is out and Beastly’s kids have been pretty amazing, given how young they are, and they’ve stayed quiet when they’ve passed the guest room Gabriel’s in. 

There’s a knock on the door and Agnes comes in. 

“I’ve got some soup ready for you in the kitchen,” she says, her voice soft and soothing. “And Klara is insisting that she shares her Jello with you.”

Gabriel smiles at her and nods. “Thanks,” he says. “For everything. Really, I don’t—”

“Gabriel,” she says. “You’re family.”

Gabriel follows her into the kitchen, and Klara and Axel look at him solemnly. When he sits down, he realises, with pleasant surprise, that he’s somewhat hungry. There’s a tug on his sleeve and Klara is holding out a stuffed doll. 

“This is Emma,” says Klara, in a whisper. “She makes me feel better when I’m sick.”

“Thank you,” says Gabriel, very solemnly, and that’s how he finds himself drinking soup, with a rag doll on his lap, and a four year old sitting right next to him, having pulled her chair flush up against his. 

“Instagram the shit out of that,” says Beastly to Agnes. 

“Language, Charles,” says Agnes but she’s got her phone raised. “Say cheese, darling.”

“Wanna go through your texts after dinner?” asks Beastly, with too much glee. “Your phone’s been going crazy all afternoon.” 

Gabriel shrugs and then winces as the movement sends a sharp stab of pain up his neck to the back of his head. 

“Don’t do too much,” says Agnes. “I’ve already spoken to your mother, Gabriel, and she’ll be arriving tomorrow.”

Gabriel grits his teeth so that he can nod. 

♠

“Fuck,” says Kent. “Charbo.” 

The Aces had an early game today, at home, which they won comfortably. The Avs just didn’t show up and Kent didn’t play particularly well. His points streak is over, but it’s still an NHL record and PR want him to have a special presentation before the next home game. 

“Parse.” Charbo’s in the Beasleys’ smaller living room. There’s a television but it’s turned off and the walls are lined with books because Beastly is obsessed with autobiographies. It’s dark in here. “Sorry I haven’t been answering texts.” He gestures. “The light from the screen hurts my eyes.”

“ _Charbo_ ,” says Kent again. He comes closer. He’s still wearing his game suit and he knows he looks good and he puts his bag down on the floor. “Fuck, your hair.”

Charbo looks up at him and his eyes are wide and they look even darker when there’s no light to reflect them. He raises his hand to his head and he seems a little self-conscious, almost nervous.

“Max says I look like him now,” he says. His voice is weird, like he’s tired and having problems getting the words out. 

Kent snorts and sits down next to Charbo, carefully, as he tries not to jostle him. “Max only wishes he looked like you.” 

“So, Hastings doing okay? He got a goal, yeah?”

“He’s not you, though,” says Kent. 

He doesn’t know what to do. Usually, he’d sling his arm around Charbo’s shoulders or muss his hair, but Charbo’s holding himself so stiffly that Kent has no idea how to make either of them comfortable.

“Thanks for coming by,” says Charbo, in that same, slow tone. 

“Of course, kid,” says Kent. He rests his hands on his knees, clenching his fingers slightly. “It doesn’t matter how good Hastings is. You know that, right? We still need you.” 

Charbo’s quiet and when Kent turns to look at him, he’s smiling slightly. He looks so strange without his curls; his face is more angular and Kent has never thought of Charbo as looking remotely vulnerable before now. 

With a sigh, Kent pulls out the cushion from behind his back and sets it on his lap. As gently as he can, he tugs Charbo towards him, until Charbo gets the message and curls up, with his head on Kent’s lap. Kent rests his hand on Charbo’s shoulder, plucking gently at the straining sleeve of his t-shirt.

“This mine?” he asks and he can see how Charbo’s cheek curves as he smiles. “It’s okay, Charbo. It suits you.”

♠

Progress Report: Gabriel Charbonneau

Let’s look at Gabriel Charbonneau. This kid was drafted, in the third round, three years ago and ended up winning the Calder. He’s got a bit of a reputation as an enforcer, in a sport in which the popularity of goons is at an all-time low but it’s not a particularly fair reputation. He started out on a hard-hitting fourth-line, sure, and he’s still more than capable of checking back but look at how his points total has risen each season. He’s scoring goals and getting assists and he’s been part of the Aces’ potent power play unit since his first season.

And that other thing about Charbonneau? Oh, right. In his rookie year, he came out as gay and, after a brief tangle with the captain of the Houston Aeros, Devon Priestley, it doesn’t seem to have affected his game play in the least. What’s interesting, though, is that no one has yet followed suit in the league. Three years later, Charbonneau remains the only openly gay NHL player, and he’s also one of the most popular NHL players, winning praise from his Team Canada teammates, from Carey Price to Sidney Crosby. 

We need more players like Charbonneau to show us that draft position doesn’t matter and sexuality doesn’t matter. He’s hard-working and humble and, the good news for the NHL, is that his younger half-brother, Max, is draft eligible in 2015.

Right now, Charbonneau is on IR for concussion sustained in training last month. Reports from inside the Aces camp have been scant, at best, but unofficial word is that he’s slowly recovering. 

♠

“Hey, Mom.” 

“Hey, sweetie. Why are you whispering?”

“Because it’s seven in the morning?”

“Haven’t you usually gone for your run by now?” His mother is silent. “Kent Parson, are you _entertaining_?”

Kent’s glad this isn’t a video call so his mom can’t see him blushing. “No. I mean. It’s not like that. Charbo’s asleep and I don’t want to wake him.”

There’s a rather more protracted silence on the other end of the phone. 

“Mom?”

“How is Gabriel?” she asks. “It sounds like it was a nasty injury.”

“He’s doing okay. Getting better. He’s getting his stitches out tomorrow.” 

“I hate to ask a rather obvious question but — “

“I, uh, stayed at Beastly’s last night. Beastly’s mother-in-law is in the other guest room so it made sense for me and Charbo to bunk up, you know? I mean. We’re roommates on the road so it’s not like we’re not used to each other.” 

Kent can tell that his mother’s not remotely convinced by the explanation but he honestly has no idea how else to explain it.

“Be careful with that boy,” says his mother. 

“Mom,” says Kent.

“No, darling. Listen to me. He’s a wonderful young man who tolerates your shit on a daily basis and, for that, as a family, we’re incredibly grateful. Don’t take advantage.”

“Mom,” says Kent again. Charbo stirs next to him, his hip nudging against Kent’s knee. “It's not like that.”

“Your father and I never wanted you to do without. You know that, don't you?”

“Yeah, Mom, and I really appreciate everything you've done—”

“It's just that sometimes I think we did wrong by you. When you don't get something you want — you take it so hard, sweetheart, and we hate to see you hurt.”

Kent swallows. He lifts his hand and lets it hover briefly over Charbo’s hip before he drops it down, gently squeezing Charbo’s side, through the covers. 

“Mom,” he says, thickly. “I think I love him.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” His mom takes a breath. “Why do you sound so sad?” 

Kent’s jaw works soundlessly for a moment. “He’s hurt.”

“You didn’t hurt him, though.”

Kent moves his hand from Charbo’s side to pinch his nose and he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, Mom. I can’t. I can’t have this conversation again. I’ll — I’ll call you later, I promise.”

♠

**Las Vegas Aces** @lasvegasaces • 13m  
Check out footage from the Aces’ Christmas skate. http://video.aces.nhl.com/videocenter

**we got parse** @acesgrrl  
omg did anyone else see the video from the christmas skate?? one of parse’s sisters was wearing a charbo shirt AGAIN!

**fight me** hellsqueen  
@acesgrrl i feel like subtlety runs in the family you feel?

**battle born** @battlebornhockey  
@hellsqueen @acesgrrl did anyone see if charbo was there?

**fight me** @hellsqueen  
@battlebornhockey @acesgrrl he wasn’t skating but my friend says he stopped by 

♠

After Christmas dinner, no one seems to mind that Gabriel cries off to go to the smaller living room in Beastly’s house. His mom and Aurelie are laughing with Agnes and Kent’s dad, while Kent’s mom and Beastly seem to be having some kind of deep and meaningful conversation about serial killers. The kids are in various states of stupor and Gabriel’s heart gives a little tug when he sees Katie lying on a couch, reading something on her new Kindle and wearing a Charbonneau shirt. 

He doesn’t say anything when Kent follows him and he doesn’t say anything when Kent’s fingertips settle on the small of his back. 

“You okay, kid?” 

“I’m good, Parse. Pretty full.”

Kent looks a bit disapproving. “You’re not eating enough,” he says, though he reaches up and tugs lightly on Gabriel’s collar. “Though you’re still stretching out my clothes.” 

“You don’t—” Gabriel elbows Kent lightly in the side. “You don’t have to keep me company. You don’t get to see your family all that often.” 

“Eh,” says Kent. “Keep ‘em wanting more.”

“Does that usually work for you?”

Kent snorts. “I have no fucking clue. C’mon, Charbo. I want a nap.” 

They arrange themselves on Beastly’s sectional; Gabriel’s head is on Kent’s stomach and he’s lying on his side, his eyes closed. He has a headache but that’s a nearly constant feature these days and he’s maybe tried to do too much.

“Thanks, Kent,” says Gabriel, softly. “You— you’re making this easier.” 

Kent’s fingers tighten on Gabriel’s shoulders and he seems to hesitate. “Any time, Charbo.”

Gabriel frowns a little, his cheek pillowed on Kent’s stomach, and he has a faint memory of a dream, of feeling loved. He rests his hand on Kent’s thigh and he drifts to sleep, comforted.

♠

“Have you told him?” 

Kent looks up as Aurelie steps into the room. He doesn’t move. Charbo’s still asleep. He’s got an arm hooked around Kent’s thigh and it’s pretty interesting, to say the least. 

“Told him what?” 

“That you’re really fucking gone for him.” Aurelie sits on the arm of the sectional, furthest from Kent and Charbo. “I’m just curious.” 

Kent shakes his head and looks down at Charbo or, rather, the back of his head. There’s a slender, pink, raised scar, still visible between the stubble of his buzz cut. When he looks up again, Aurelie has left the room.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, almost relishing the way the attempt to breathe is hindered by Charbo’s head on his stomach. He wonders how to tell his mom, or Aurelie, that it’s safer this way. 

It hurts. It hurts like an old wound, come flaring back to life. Upper body injury, day-to-day. He can’t put Charbo through the same pain because Kent knows how it goes: It may not end with too many pills and crushed dreams but it will end.

It will end, so better not to start. 

He strokes Charbo’s shorn head gently. It’s safer this way, just to love and not demand return.

♠

Happy New Year!

The Las Vegas Aces hosted the New York Rangers on New Year’s Eve in the Battledrome and got revenge for last season’s Stanley Cup final. Led by their captain, Kent Parson, the Aces ended the year as they mean to go on. A resounding 4-1 victory, with goals by Parson, Berezhnoy and Hastings, means that they are comfortably top of the league, as Parson looks to start a new points streak. 

They fly to DC in two days for the Winter Classic.

♠

They go out after the victory over the Rangers. Everyone is there, apart from Charbo, who’s been given clearance to be on his own again but he still can’t cope with flashing lights, loud music or alcohol so he’s at home. 

Kent sends him a text, a bit before midnight. _Happy New Year, Charbo. Your new year’s resolution is to unscramble your brains._ He tucks his phone into his back pocket and ventures back onto the dance floor. Benny and PB grin madly at him and Kent raises his glass, before he drains it in one. 

He finds himself sandwiched between a tall, blonde woman and a guy he’s guessing is her boyfriend. Kent doesn’t mind making out with her for a while. He thinks she might be famous but he’s not entirely sure. Her boyfriend’s hands on Kent’s hips are strong as he presses up against Kent’s back. 

It’s closer to midnight now and his teammates are scattered around the club, most of them with their wives or girlfriends. 

Not knowing why, he wriggles out from the dance floor, waving off the disappointed cries from his new friends. Maybe she’s a popstar. He really doesn’t know. 

♠

“Kent?”

“Don’t — don’t fucking read anything into this but do you remember? The person you kiss at midnight?” 

“It’s, like. It’s way past midnight.” 

Kent reaches out with both hands, his fingers tightening in thin, white, t-shirt cotton. He's selfish. Everyone knows he's so fucking selfish but it already hurts.

“Kent?”

“Kiss me.”

(Upper body injury, day-to-day.)


End file.
